


All I Ask

by NatRogers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers Endgame Fix it, Could Not Be Further From Canon If I Tried, F/M, Grief, Not Canon Compliant, Realizing Feelings, Soulmates, twin flames
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2020-07-12 08:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19943275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatRogers/pseuds/NatRogers
Summary: As the old adage goes: if you keep looking back, you'll miss what's in front of you. On the night before The Avengers embark upon their time heist, Steve Rogers learns that those words could not be more true  - especially when it comes to the one person that's been right by him all this time.





	1. If You Can Fight, You Can Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/pseuds/Faith2nyc) for the cover art! For you daily dose of Romanogers, don't forget to check out more of her work on [Tumblr](https://faith2nyc.tumblr.com/), [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/faith2nyc_romanogers/), and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Faith2nyc_IG). 
> 
> ...I also said I was no longer going to start new fics, but her artwork (and our shared love of Adele) inspired this 3-parter. So, you know... thank her, blame her, you do you. Love ya, K! 
> 
> Anyhow... as usual, happy reading!
> 
> **_If this is my last night with you_**  
>  **_Hold me like I'm more than just a friend_**  
>  **_Give me a memory I can use_**  
>  **_Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do_**  
>  **_It matters how this ends_**  
>  **_'Cause what if I never love again?_**  
>  **_All I Ask - Adele_**  
> 

“So, I, uh… Went on a date the other day. First time in five years, you know? Sit there, dinner… I didn’t know what to talk about.”

“What did you talk about?” Steve prods as he gives the man next to him, Joe, a small and encouraging smile.

“Eh… same old crap, you know?” Joe says with a grimace. “How things have changed, and… my job, his job… How much we miss the Mets. Then things get quiet… He cried as they were serving the salads.”

“How about you?” Steve hears someone across from them ask, but he keeps his eyes on Joe.

“I cried… just before dessert.” Joe says before shrugging. “But I’m seeing him tomorrow, so…”

“That’s great,” Steve tells Joe. “You did the hardest part. You took the jump, you didn’t know where you were gonna come down.” He turns towards the rest of the group. “And that’s it. Those little brave steps you gotta take. To try and become whole again. To try and find purpose.” He sighs. “I went in the ice in forty-five right after I met the love of my life. Woke up seventy years later. You got to move on.” He shakes his head dolefully. “Got to move on.” He puts a hand out, nodding at each and every one of the sullen faces before him. “The world is in our hands. It’s left to us, guys, and we have to do something with it. Otherwise… Thanos should have killed all of us.”

A screech fills the room as Steve stacks the last of the chairs together. He turns, taking in the dark and deserted space before him. The sight is lonesome, but one he’s grown accustomed to since taking charge of these therapy sessions. On its best day, the job of trying to help people reconcile their existence and purpose in this world is challenging. But on its worst, it feels futile, impossible even. And despite what he had just told the group, today feels like one of those days. He sighs, though whether it’s from exhaustion or defeat, he can’t tell. These days, they were beginning to feel one and the same. He assesses the room one last time, and once he’s satisfied that everything’s right where it should be, he begins making his way out, stopping only when the words on the poster on the wall catch his eye.

**WHERE DO WE GO, NOW THAT THEY’RE GONE?**

It’s a good question, and it’s the same one he based the intent of these sessions on. In theory, he knows the answer. But nonetheless, his shoulders sag with what feels like the weight of the world, and he brings his hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes fall shut and his earlier words echo through his mind. _Y_ _ou got to move on. Got to move on._

His words hadn’t been a lie. They had to move on, himself included. And it’s because of that fact that days like this one made it especially easy for him to feel like a phony. Move on, he had encouraged all the jaded faces that sat before him. Take the chance that was not given to those who weren’t so lucky and do something with it. Yet, here he is, without so much as a scintilla of a clue as to how to even begin doing so and with his will to try dwindling. After everything that’s happened and everything he’s had to endure, allowing himself to just wallow and lament everything and everyone he’s lost would be so easy, and it would be a lie to say that this is the only time he’s ever thought of it. The persistent voice in his head returns, the very one he’s been fighting to keep in the darkest recesses of his mind, though there are times where it grows too strong, too loud, much like it is now as it screams at him to stop, to surrender.

He inhales deeply. He couldn’t. He can’t.

A sigh falls from his lips as his eyes flutter open. He reaches into his pocket, his fingers curling around the small disc inside. The metal of the compass is cool against his skin as he pulls it out, holding it in his palm as he unclasps the lock to see the fading picture on the top half. For so long, this keepsake had always been able to center him, giving him direction when he felt lost and overwhelmed. But as he stares down at the image of the woman he loved and at the arrow pointing towards her, this time, his mind draws a blank. 

“What do I do, Peg?” he asks, hoping that by voicing it, the answers will come.

* * *

There wasn’t really a destination in his mind when he had woken up this morning, intent on going for a drive. All he knew was that he had to move, and the second he hit I-87, his instincts had told him to keep going North, leading him right up to the facility. He’s seldom been around these grounds in the last five years; the gravity of their loss combined with the memories this place held of the people they lost just too much to bear. But as he makes it past the gates, he finds comfort in seeing the regal white edifice, its chrome and glass accents shining in the sunlight. He drives into the garage, parking next to the black Corvette, and for a brief moment, the sight of the car brings a smile to his face. It feels like another lifetime ago that he and Natasha were both working as SHIELD agents under Fury’s command. So much has changed since then, but her love for this car hasn’t, and though he’s not sure why, he finds fleeting solace in that.

He hears the sound of scanners taking his biometrics as he enters the main building, followed by the AI’s greeting and acknowledgement of his access, but he does not pay it any mind as he makes his way further inside. He turns the corner, his gaze falling to the large conference table where he once shared everything from mission briefs to meals with teammates, all of whom he had come to view as family, and most of whom were no longer with them. He pushes the thought away as soon as it comes, hastening his steps as he tries to put as much distance between him and yet another reminder of the consequences they were now forced to live with. 

“It’s probably a rival gang,” he hears Natasha say, stopping him in his tracks just as he’s about to enter the command center. 

“Except it isn’t. It’s definitely Barton.”

He looks down at his shoes as Rhodey confirms what he knows Natasha has long been quietly fearing. She had brought up the possibility of Clint being the one behind the mass killings she had been monitoring, but that had been weeks ago, and he can only imagine how gutted she feels that her suspicions had not been baseless.

“What he’s done here,” Rhodey goes on. “What he’s been doing for the last few years… I mean, the scene he left… I gotta tell you, there’s a part of me that doesn’t even want to find him.”

“Will you find out where he’s going next?”

“Nat…” Rhodey says, his tone reluctant.

“Please.”

His shoulders slump with a fresh wave of grief. He’s known Natasha for over a decade, has stood next to her as they weathered the most difficult trials life could throw at them. But not even when they were on the run together as fugitives did her voice ever dip into the dire desperation it’s drowning in now. He takes a steadying breath, exhaling quietly. And as Rhodey mutters a soft okay in concession, he walks into view, only to regret his decision as quickly as he had made it. If he thought Natasha’s pained tone was difficult to hear, seeing her with her head bowed and her palms pressed together as she tries to hold back her tears is nearly oppressive.

“You know,” he says, making his presence known before she can let the tears fall. But whether it’s for his benefit or hers, he’s unsure. “I’d offer to cook you dinner, but you seem pretty miserable already.”

She drops her hands from her face, quickly gathering her composure the way only she can. “You here to do your laundry?”

“And to see a friend,” he adds, offering her a small smile. 

“Clearly, your friend is fine,” she says, her voice teasing.

He looks to the side, the hurt coloring her face that she does not even have the wherewithal to hide anymore suddenly too much to look at. “I saw a pod of whales when I was coming up the bridge.”

“In the Hudson?”

He looks back at her to see her amused expression. “There’s fewer ships, cleaner water…”

“If you’re about to tell me to look on the bright side, um…” – she pauses, averting her gaze to the ceiling as she crosses her arms over her chest – “I’m about to hit you in the head with a peanut butter sandwich.”

He chuckles at the facetious smile she sends his way. “Sorry,” he says, walking over to take the seat in front of her. “Force of habit.” She doesn’t respond, settling instead for plunking the plate in front of him with the other half of her sandwich. He leans back into the chair, taking a second to truly look at her before sighing. “I keep telling people that they should move on and… grow. Some do.” He shakes his head, the words leaving a rancid taste in his mouth. “But not us.”

“If I move on, who does this?” she asks almost instantly.

“Maybe it doesn’t need to be done,” he says, testing the words behind the sentiment that’s been occupying much of his mental real estate lately. And for a split second, he’s able to note how the relief does not come at finally saying them out loud. 

“I used to have nothing,” she says as tears well in her eyes. “Then I got this. This job… this family. And I was better because of it.” She smiles sadly. “And even though” – her voice cracks, and she pauses to take a breath – “they’re gone… I’m still trying to be better.”

“Nat,” he whispers as tears stream down her face. He pushes his chair back, walking around the table to crouch down next to her. “Hey,” he says, covering the hand she has resting on her lap with one of his own. “Look at me.” She obliges him reluctantly, and he squeezes her hand gently when he sees her eyes swimming in weariness and sorrow. “You are better. You proved that long ago.”

She rolls her eyes playfully, bringing a hand up to her face to wipe away her tears. “That what you tell everyone in your support group?”

“Only friends I have these days,” he jokes before smirking. “I think we both need to get a life.”

A ghost of a grin making its way across her lips as she tips her chin towards him. “You first.”

He smiles, holding her gaze even as his guilt begins to eat away at him. In his need to get away from this place and from all its painful reminders, he had inadvertently left her to deal with the aftermath of their failure, making her carry a burden he had helped create all on her own. And as he looks at her now, he sees how much that task has weighed on her, but also how ardently she’s trying to keep pushing forward despite it all. His earlier suggestion – that maybe none of this needed to be done – now feels shameful, and an apology almost instantly makes its way to the tip of his tongue. But before he can utter it, the sound of a notification fills the room, and Natasha untangles her hand from his to swipe at the interface before her.

“Uh… oh! Hi. Hi!” a flustered voice says. “Is anyone home? This is Scott Lang!”

His eyes grow wide, as does Natasha’s before him as they both rise.

* * *

“And... kill it!”

He waits anxiously for Natasha to pull down the lever at Bruce’s command. When she does, the power shuts, killing the lights and the machines in the lab, and in an instant, Scott reappears from the Quantum tunnel back in his current age.

“Oh, thank God,” he hears Natasha utter from behind him as he breathes out a sigh of relief. 

Bruce holds his arms out victoriously. “Time travel!”

He looks incredulously at the scientist before shaking his head and silently making his way out of the lab in defeat. Outside, the quiet is a welcome change from the ruckus he had walked away from, and the crisp air of early October in Upstate New York in his lungs provides a pleasant respite. He rests his hands on his hips, looking to the ground. He had been skeptical when Scott first arrived, offering the idea of time travel as a solution to what has become their excruciating reality. And now, with their only opportunity all but blown, he realizes that he wasn’t wrong to doubt.

The revving of an engine disrupts the silence, causing him to look up, and he’s surprised when he sees a sleek black vehicle zig zagging across the outer perimeter of the compound. The tires screech as it turns the corner, and he recognizes it as the R8 that was parked outside Tony’s cabin just as it drives by him only to promptly back up.

“Why the long face?” Tony asks as he rolls down the window. “Let me guess. He turned into a baby.”

“Among other things, yeah,” he deadpans even as relief begins to wash over him. “What are you doing here?

“That's the EPR paradox,” Tony says, ignoring his question as he gets out of the car. “Instead of pushing Lang through time, you might've wound up pushing time through Lang. It's tricky. Dangerous.” Tony raises an eyebrow. “Somebody should’ve cautioned you against it.”

“You did,” he concedes with a nod.

“Oh, did I?” Tony says, feigning surprise before he shrugs. “Thank God I'm here. Regardless, I fixed it.” Tony holds up his hand, showing him the device wrapped around it. “A fully functioning Time-Space GPS,” Tony explains, and he can’t help the smile that crosses his face at the man’s words. “I just want peace. Turns out, resentment is corrosive, and I hate it.”

“Me too,” he says sincerely.

“We got a shot at getting these stones,” Tony tells him before shaking his head. “But I gotta tell you my priorities. Bring back what we lost? I hope, yes. Keep what I got? I have to, at all costs. And... maybe not die trying will be nice.”

He takes a second to ponder Tony’s words. In the past, he might have replied with something along the lines of how their job came with a price and that they could not guarantee anything. But that was then. As he’s coming to acknowledge now, things have changed. The people they lost should only make them value the ones they still have even more, and now more than ever, Tony had everything to lose, and that’s something he could not blame the man for wanting to avoid. Even as they prepare to gear up for what may prove to be the greatest and most important challenge of their lives, they couldn’t afford to be reckless. Not anymore. 

“Sounds like a deal,” he says, offering his hand out. Tony responds in kind, giving his hand a firm shake before walking towards the back of his car. He follows him, silently watching as Tony pops open the trunk before reaching inside. He recognizes the familiar zing before Tony even flips it over, and he sighs when he sees the shield. “Tony, I don’t know…”

“Why?” Tony challenges. “He made it for you. Plus, honestly, I have to get it out of the garage before Morgan takes it sledding.”

Tony holds out the shield, pushing it towards him, and reluctantly, he takes it, putting his arm through the strap as he’s reacquainted with the weight that had once felt like an extension of himself. Leerily, he stares at the gleaming surface. For years, he had told himself that not only did he not deserve it, but also that he no longer wanted it. The things this shield symbolized, he felt no longer qualified to stand for. And while he’s not all that certain that that’s changed since he had first put it down, he knows that if there’s one thing he could still get behind, it’s the duty to protect and fight for what’s good and true. And right now, that’s what he needs to do for the sake of the greater good. It’s what he wants to do now given a second chance. He nods. “Thank you, Tony.”

* * *

Tony’s arrival sparks something in the facility, though he’s not quite sure what it is just yet. It is not hope, but something more akin to a cautious optimism, and it’s palpable in everything that they do. They had been operating without it for so long, that the relief that it’s bringing as it lingers around them even as distantly as it is, is that much sweeter. He certainly feels it now, his every stride as he runs laps around the driveway lighter and more purposeful.

They had quickly started putting plans into motion. But first thing’s first: they needed the entire team back. They had sent a call out to Rocket and Nebula out in space, and an agreement was made to split up to find the others. By this time tomorrow, scarred and uncertain of this mission as they all are, they would be back together in full force. The thought brings him to a halt, and he’s settled enough that he no longer feels the need to outrun his ever-wandering mind. He finds the nearest entrance, the one that leads to the hangar, and he’s surprised when he finds a Quinjet already running with its ramp pulled down. He walks further inside, his eyebrows furrowing when he sees Natasha approaching.

“You’re leaving already?” he asks, taking note of her combat suit peeking out from underneath the coat she has on. “I thought Rhodey was coming with you?”

“He was,” she says, stopping just in front of him. “But he had to take care of an errand with Tony and I can’t afford to wait.” Her voice grows quiet as she points to the jet behind her. “Clint’s on the move again, and if I don’t leave now, who knows how long it’ll take to find him.”

“I’ll come with you then,” he says quickly, already moving towards the main building.

“No,” she says, her hand reaching for his wrist before he can get any further. “It’s okay, I can do this on my own.”

“Natasha,” he says, his tone filled with dread. He knows she’s more than capable of looking out for herself. That, if it came to it, she’s more than able to go toe to toe with Clint. But that’s not what he’s worried about. If there’s something he knows better than anybody, it’s that crippling heartbreak at seeing your best friend engulfed by darkness, and that’s not something he ever wants her to feel. Certainly, not alone. He shakes his head. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” she says. “But I should.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the one least likely to die trying,” she says, smirking lightly.

A surprised gasp falls from his lips as she throws his own words back at her. And try as he might to be annoyed by it, he simply can’t. For while he does know how painful it is to see someone you care about turn into someone they’re not, he’s also familiar with the feeling of knowing you’re the only person that can pull them back – just as she had let him do way back when despite her misgivings. He chuckles.

“Touché,” he says, watching as a smile crosses her face before he nods towards the jet. “Go.”

* * *

Sleep has never been something that’s come easy to him. And tonight, more than any other night in his life, that couldn’t be truer as he restlessly watches the shadows dance across the ceiling of his suite. He looks to the side, catching the light drizzle of rain turn into a deluge through the window before sighing, hoping that it isn’t an ill omen for what’s to come. Tomorrow they have to retrieve all six of the most powerful stones in the galaxy, and the margin for error in that undertaking is virtually nonexistent. It’s a Hail Mary, a colossal ask of them all, but it needs to be executed with nothing short of perfection; there’s simply no other way. Failure, should that be their outcome, would damn them to this nightmare of a reality permanently. He sits up at the thought, abandoning any pretense of finding sleep as he rises from his bed and grabs his boxing gloves on his way out.

The gym is illuminated only by the street lights peering through the windows, and despite the darkness, he’s not all that surprised to hear movement from somewhere inside. For all their differences as a team, being insomniacs is one of the handful of things they unanimously find common ground on. He follows what he thinks are footfalls – light and faint and probably inaudible to someone with hearing less than his own – and it leads him to the back of the room that overlooks the river. He stops by the wall, catching Natasha just as she jumps midair, splitting her legs in an elegant grand jeté. She lands gracefully on her feet before maundering further across the floor, and momentarily, he finds himself frozen in place.

Maybe it’s the stillness she exudes, or perhaps just how she moves as if its second nature to her own beat, but either way, he’s entranced. She’s taken the most on her plate since Tony had arrived, immersing herself in both planning and being there for Clint, and he’s glad that she’s allowed herself to indulge in something just for her. There’s a determination to her expression now, one that’s only been strengthened since she came home with Clint in tow. It’s the type he’s been seeking to find, the kind he knows could propel him to believe they can win this fight. And while he should be envious that she’s apparently found it in the face of all this uncertainty, instead, he’s filled only with admiration.

“What did I say about practicing your Stealth skills?”

The sound of Natasha’s voice breaks him out of his reverie, and when he looks back out into the gym, he finds her by the window, leaning against the barre with her back to him. He chuckles quietly, dropping his gloves to the floor before pushing himself off the wall and out of the shadows. “Not the only thing you told me I needed to practice.”

“And have you?” she says, lifting an eyebrow at him as she turns.

He scoffs, and judging by the knowing look on her face, he knows he does not have to say the words for her to know the answer to her question. He stops next to her, mirroring her position. “Can’t sleep?”

“I’ll sleep when we’ve restored half the universe,” she says, the corners of her mouth curving up in a little smile.

“Well,” he says, clearly amused. “You’re pretty chipper for someone who’s about to attempt something highly dangerous come sunrise.”

“Wonder where I learned that from,” she retorts. He narrows his eyes playfully at her, to which she smirks, and she lets a beat pass before she goes on. “I know thinking we can pull this off is… foolish, to say the least. But this is the most hope I’ve had in five years.” She shakes her head. “I can’t let it go.” Her words cause him to swallow, though for what reason he’s uncertain, and he’s grateful when she doesn’t let her words linger between them for long as she changes the subject. “What about you?” she asks. “Passing on the beauty sleep before the big day?”

“Haven’t really slept much in years,” he says. “Don’t see the point in starting now.” He looks to the ground before nodding towards her feet. “Didn’t realize you’d taken that up again.”

She lifts her foot, giving him a better look at the shimmering pink satin of her pointe shoes. “For the longest time, I avoided it,” she says. “I think I was too afraid.” He looks up at her face, and though he can only see her profile, the concern is evident in her features. “I didn’t know if it was something I love or something I was trained to love.”

“Something you love,” he says, cringing internally at how quickly the words came rushing out of his mouth. “I mean, it seems like something you love.” He clears his throat, shifting on his feet. “To me, at least. When I was watching you, you seemed like you loved what you were doing.”

“You shouldn’t be creeping on people, Rogers,” she says before nudging him with her elbow. “It’s rude.”

“Says the former spy,” he quips, making them both laugh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I guess I’m just… amazed at people who can dance.” He sighs. “Never got the chance to learn.”

Silence befalls them, and when he looks at her, the expression on her face is difficult to read. It’s not a look of pity, that much he knows. But it’s pensive, as if she’s searching his face for some sign, and for a second, he’s perplexed. He isn’t so arrogant to think that he knows every single one of her secrets, but he’s almost certain that she knows all of his. As far as he’s concerned, his mind is an open book to her, and he’s grown comfortable enough to let her see its inner workings. The fact that part of him still mourns the chances he lost – never getting his dance, most especially – shouldn’t be news to her, but he’s surprised to learn that apparently, it is. “Nat?”

She eyes him carefully. “Do you?”

“Do I what?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Want to learn how to dance.”

Almost immediately, his lips part to speak, an objection already at the tip of his tongue, but he pauses. _Open book,_ he reminds himself, letting out a sigh. “Does it matter?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “But as you pointed out, we’re about to do something unprecedented tomorrow that may or may not end badly for us.” She shrugs, holding her hand out in front of her as she smirks. “How much worse can our decisions get?”

He turns his gaze to her hand, zeroing in on how she keeps it steady instead of insistent and urging. It dawns on him then that despite the logic she’s just laid out before him, she’s giving him a choice. And, perhaps more saliently, a chance to refuse. Because she’s right. The meticulous planning and testing that they’ve done notwithstanding, they still do not know what fate beholds them at the end of their mission. And as frivolous as learning how to dance may seem at the moment, the task that looms before them means that this may be his only chance – his _last_ chance – to fulfill a wish he’s had for as long as he can remember.

It is then that her earlier silence clicks into place. It wasn’t that she was surprised to learn that he still yearned for the moments he missed out on. It’s that by asking him this question, she isn’t only asking if he’d like to learn how to dance, but also if he’d like to take the last chance he may have to do so, with her. And though he does not understand why, the fact that she even thought to ask is what has him reaching his hand out to meet hers.

If she’s surprised by his decision, she does not show it, giving their hands only a cursory glance before wordlessly leading him away from the window. They stop at the center of the gym, in the wide-open space where he watched her saunter lithely across only moments ago, before she takes his other hand, laying it on the dip of her waist. 

“I can’t dance,” he says suddenly, whispering the words like a confession he can no longer keep to himself.

“It’s okay,” she says. “If you can fight, you can dance.” She smiles disarmingly, lifting their hands higher until they’re level with her shoulder. “Just follow my lead.”

With those four words, his apprehension melts as rapidly as it had overcome him, and he nods. Follow her lead. That’s something he could do. Something he has done countless times before, sometimes without so much as a second thought. And in all of those instances, not once has she stirred him wrong, and he knows in his heart that she’s not about to start now.

They start off slow, swaying to nothing but the sound of the torrential downpour wreaking havoc outside. At first, he keeps his eyes on the ground and his steps tentative, burdened by the idea that with one miscue, his boots could crush her satin-clad feet. But when moments pass and they only glide effortlessly across the floor, picking up the pace as they do, he surrenders himself to the way they just seem to flow. He glances back up at her, and with her smile soft and her eyes brimming with encouragement, he feels his confidence soar. He steps back, raising her hand slightly, and she twirls nimbly without missing a beat before coming back into their embrace.

He’s not entirely certain when they move close enough for him to lean his forehead against hers, or which of them had initiated it. Only that he cannot bring himself to care about their proximity or about how she hadn’t bothered to pull away. Not when his body had adjusted seamlessly to her every move like a reflex, anticipating each and every one of her motions just as it does when they’re fighting side by side on the battlefield. His eyes close at the thought. Dancing, as he is learning, isn’t so different. It’s easy. Effortless. But so is everything he does with the woman in his arms, it seems – from fighting together, to watching each other’s backs, to making decisions to save half of humanity, to everything else in between.

That ease isn’t by coincidence, he realizes. It’s the product of the trust between them that’s blossomed into something tight-knit and unshakeable. With everything that's happened in the last several years, he’s questioned everything from his purpose in life to his faith. But the one thing he’s never doubted is his trust in her. How could he, when she’s proved time and again that she’s always here, always right by his side. The one constant in the midst of all the change. He’s lost everything he’s ever cared about, every person he’s ever loved, but through it all, he’s never lost her. Even in the grimmest of days, and in his lowest of lows, he knows irrefutably that he can always turn to her. That, push comes to shove, when all seems lost, her strength will reignite his own – just as it did when he found her days ago, seated at her desk as she found the courage within herself to carry on despite the burden of their loss sitting on her shoulders. And just as it is now, as he holds her in his arms and her hope fortifies his determination to do whatever it takes to make their mission succeed come tomorrow. 

_If you can fight, you can dance_. She’s right, he can. He can do anything. Because there isn’t a thing he can’t do, a thing he can’t face, with her by his side.

Clarity washes over him like a wave crashing violently to shore. His eyes fly open at the revelation, and he stills, causing her to look up at him with concern etched across her face. “Steve?”

“It’s you,” he whispers.

She blinks up at him, her forehead creasing. “What?”

“All this time I thought I missed my chance,” he says. “I didn’t.” Something about saying the words out loud feels liberating, and just like that, he feels a weight lift off his chest. “It’s been in front of me all along.” 

“Steve, I don’t-”

“The perfect partner, Nat,” interrupts, watching her eyes widen. “It’s-”

“Please,” she all but begs, the rawness of her tone catching him off guard as she goes rigid in his grasp. “Please don’t say it.”

The pained look on her face pulls at his heartstrings, and the fact that she’s not even bothering to hide her emotions under a mask, letting him see her in her most vulnerable, makes his chest ache even more. He swallows thickly. “Why not?”

“Because you have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming to hear you say it,” she says, her words both a cast and a dagger to his heart. “If you say it now, it becomes real.” She shakes her head. “And then I’ll want to be selfish, and I can’t be. Not tonight.” 

“But Nat-”

“I know,” she says purposefully, as if she’s trying to relay every word she forbids him to say with those two little ones. “I know.” She cups his face in her hands, running her thumb along his cheekbone. “So, please. Don’t.” 

His eyes fall shut as he relaxes into her touch. For as difficult as it is to acquiesce to her request, he knows she’s right. She always is. “What can I do?” 

“Can you just… dance with me?” she asks, her voice small. 

Of all the things she could have said, he does not expect that to be her answer, but he doesn’t give it any more thought as he collects her in his arms again. And this time, when he looks at her face, he feels as if the wool has been pulled away from his eyes, like he’s truly seeing her for the first time. Suddenly, the glimmer in her emerald orbs no longer feels like a mystery, but a sign he’s missed that’s been right there all along. Just as she has been for him. And as they begin to sway, falling back into a slow rhythm, he wraps his arms tightly around her, clinging onto her like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever had the privilege of holding. For if this is the only thing he can do tonight, he’s going to make it count.

“Tell me after,” she says moments later, with her head on his chest and their arms around each other. He peers down at her, waiting for her to go on as the moonlight illuminates her face. “When we get our family and friends back,” she clarifies. “When we’ve restored half the universe. When we’ve won.” She smiles. “Everything you want to say. Tell me then.” 

He returns her smile, nodding. “Okay.”

She pulls away from him, planting her hands on his shoulders as she leans up to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, Nat,” he says, watching as she walks away. 

* * *

Quiet falls over the facility’s arsenal as he stands in front of his locker, adjusting the buckle of his utility belt. The rest of the team had gone back to the control room to take care of last-minute details, but he had stayed back to relish the silence in solitude if only for a moment. He turns to the full-length mirror to the side, staring at his reflection. He zeroes in on the gleaming silver star on his chest amidst all the red, white, and blue of his suit, and patiently, he waits for the unease to proliferate in his gut. It’s been half a decade since he’s last adorned a uniform, and he expects, wholeheartedly, for it to feel foreign against his skin. And yet, from where he stands, the only thing coursing through his veins is a sense of determination, something he has not had the pleasure of experiencing in far too long. Whereas days ago, he had felt like a fraud for encouraging people to find a way to move forward when all he wanted was to wallow in their loss, today, his fortitude to follow his own advice feels reinvigorated. 

He knows that his newfound hope didn’t happen by chance. Their plan is solid, put together by some of the most brilliant minds in the universe, and he couldn’t have asked for a better team to be a part of if he tried. If there is any group capable of pulling off this time heist, it’s theirs. But, if he’s truly being honest with himself, his will to carry on has been sparked anew most by the promise of what’s to come after they’ve done the job. The moment he shared with Natasha last night has only put things further into perspective for him, as if he’s finally seeing the puzzle put together after holding onto the pieces all this time. It all made sense now – he hadn’t come back to the facility by chance. Just when his faith began to falter, his heart had led him here, back to the one person that’s always been his light in the dark.

“Missing something?”

The question breaks him out of thought, and when he turns, he finds Natasha standing by the doorway. The black Kevlar of her suit shines under the fluorescent lights, and she lifts her arm up to show him his shield. He smiles. “I was getting there,” he says. “But now that I see it, I think it looks better on you.”

“Maybe,” she says teasingly, trying to distract from the slight blush that creeps onto her cheeks as she walks further into the room. “But it matches your outfit more.”

He rolls his eyes, but nonetheless, a chuckle falls from his lips. Because all things considered, it’s ridiculous that despite the dangerous mission ahead of them, here they are, badinaging as if it’s just any other day. But that’s them – that’s always been them, he recognizes – and he wouldn’t have it any other way. She hands him the shield, and he takes it carefully. “Thanks.”

“How does that feel?”

He weighs it in his arm, just as he had done when Tony had given it to him. “Like I’ve always had it,” he admits, catching the knowing little nod she gives him. His eyes scan over her own gear, taking note of her batons secured on her back and her Widow’s Bite on her wrists before settling on the holster on her thigh. He gestures towards the gun. “Locked and loaded?”

“Always,” she says. “Though if whatever is out there can be bested by a Gloc, I’ll consider myself lucky.”

“You brought extra rounds with you, right?” he asks worriedly before he can think better of it. 

To his surprise, she smirks in amusement. “I never walk into a mission unprepared, Rogers,” she reminds him as she steps closer. “The least of all, this one.”

“I know,” he says, huffing out a breath as he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I just-”

The hand she puts on his arm brings him to a pause. “I know too, remember?” she says, staring at him in understanding. He nods, and she gives him a small smile. “See you out there.”

He watches as she turns to leave, but before she can make it out, he calls out to her. “Hey, Nat?” She looks back at him expectantly. “You’ve always looked beautiful in your suit.” 

She scoffs, but it quickly turns into a grin. “Your Stealth suit is your best suit,” she says, winking before she walks out the door.

“Five years ago, we lost,” he says as they all stand on the platform of the time machine. “We lost friends… We lost family… We lost a part of ourselves.” Next to him, Clint bows his head, his expression crumbling with anguish. He sighs. “Today, we have a chance to take it all back. You know your teams, you know your missions” – he pauses, letting his eyes sweep across the circle from Clint and Natasha, to Rocket and Thor, to Rhodey and Nebula, and then finally, to Bruce, Scott, and Tony – “get the stones, get them back. One round trip each. No mistakes. No do-overs. Most of us are going somewhere we know, but it doesn't mean we should know what to expect. Be careful. Look out for each other.” For a split second, he considers his next words, not wanting to get ahead of himself. But then looks to Natasha, seeing the conviction on her face, and then there’s no doubt in his mind that he has to say it. “This is the fight of our lives,” he announces boldly. “And we’re gonna win.” Tony turns to him at that, but he does not catch the emotion on the man’s face, too caught up in the way Natasha’s mouth quirks just in the slightest. “Whatever it takes,” he says, stepping back into position. “Goodluck.” 

A cacophony of his teammates’ voices fills the hangar. There’s cheering, commands to get the time machine rolling, and the usual back and forth bickering, but he drowns it all out, choosing instead to focus on Natasha. Her green eyes are bright, set alight by hope and resolve that he can only wish are mirrored in his own. They don’t exchange words, but they don’t need to. If there’s one thing he’s certain of now, it’s that they don’t need words to reaffirm that their hearts have always wanted the same things. And right now, that’s to win this fight. To see their loved ones again. To save the world one more time. And then, when all is said and done, to tell each other everything they should have said long ago.

It’s only when the time machine begins to engage that Natasha lets an excited smile break out on her face. “See you in a minute.”

He smiles.

The minute passes, though it feels like an eternity after all he’s seen. Bruce’s and Rhodey’s questions are a welcome sound, testament to the fact that they may have actually just pulled off the impossible. He looks across from him, searching for the one face – the one smile – he needs to see to believe it, but all his eyes come across is the empty space next to Clint.

“Clint, where’s Nat?” Bruce asks, taking the words right out of his mouth.

Before him, Clint falls to his knees, but he doesn’t hear the thud as the man hits the ground. The world goes silent save for the ring in his ears, the same way it did when he had plunged into ice. And just as he did back then, he feels the air drain from his lungs slowly, carefully, excruciatingly, until all he wants is for it to stop. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: In the next two chapters, I will be using and changing parts of Endgame as I see fit and shamelessly ignoring details that clash/do not fit. If that does not sit well with you, totally fine, you can take this chapter as a standalone. I hope to give you something that fits your tastes better in the future. :-) But for those of you who are okay with that premise and want to see how this unfolds, stay tuned!**
> 
> Listen to All I Ask here. 
> 
> Tumblr: [natrogersfics](http://www.natrogersfics.tumblr.com)


	2. You're All I Hear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by: [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/pseuds/Faith2nyc). Follow her on [Tumblr](https://faith2nyc.tumblr.com/), [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/faith2nyc_romanogers/), and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Faith2nyc_IG).
> 
> **Disclaimer: This could not diverge far enough from canon if I tried. If you’re looking for a story that strictly adheres to the MCU and/or comic canon, the time travel rules set up in Endgame, and the lore behind the infinity stones, this is definitely not the one.**
> 
> Happy reading!

There’s a crackle as Steve’s body collides with the ground, but whether it’s from the gravel he’s landed on or his bones cracking from the force, he’s uncertain. Between the pain radiating from the gash on his leg and the deafening ring in his ears, he’s unable to focus on anything other than how heavy his body feels. The desire to stay down and succumb to the darkness lurking in his periphery washes over him suddenly, becoming far too tempting as he struggles for breath, and as his eyes begin to fall shut, it’s nearly irresistible. 

But staying down isn’t an option. He knows it’s not, even when it feels like he has nothing left to give. It takes a Herculean effort, so much so that he can’t stop the wince from breaking out across his face, but he wills himself to roll ungracefully to his side. 

“In all my years of conquest… violence… slaughter,” he hears Thanos say from yards away. “It was never personal.” The Titan takes a pause, and when Steve looks up, the smile on the monster’s face is nearly audible as he continues. “But I’ll tell you now… what I’m about to do to your stubborn, annoying little planet… I’m gonna enjoy it very, very much.”

The ground rumbles with the force of thousands of footsteps approaching, of ships landing, and weapons being drawn. Steve’s gaze sweeps across Thanos’ army filling the other side of the terrain, and he swallows hard at the sight. On his flanks, Tony and Thor are still out cold, and he can’t bring himself to think about what else has happened to everyone else. Whoever else they’ve lost.

He lets out a groan, loud and guttural, as he forces himself to his feet. He huffs out a breath, gritting his teeth as he fastens the strap on what’s left of his shield and begins to limp towards the fight. He’s all alone, all that’s left. One man with nothing more than half his weapon and his will to fight.

And it’s going to have to be enough. 

“Steve,” he hears a voice whisper, soft and saccharine. “Can you hear me?”

He pauses, letting out a tired chuckle. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth must only be the tip of the iceberg as far as his injuries go. His mind must have gone long before, because there it goes, the one voice he wants to hear, drowning out the ruckus of the battalion before him. Perhaps this is a kindness – a gift from the world he had given his life to save once before, and, as it stands, again in this moment. If its demise is here, then so be it. But at least let this voice be the last sound he hears before he perishes along with it.

“Steve, it’s me. Can you hear me?”

A smile grazes his lips. _You’re all I hear_.

“Turn around, Steve.”

A spark cuts through the gloom of the battlefield when he looks back, growing bigger and glowing brighter by the second as he stares in astonishment. A figure emerges from the light, slowly and torturously so, and vaguely, he’s aware that the portals have multiplied, lighting up the field as if the sun has shone over them. But as he focuses on the shadow coming towards him, his heart stammers in his chest. Neither pain nor delirium could keep him from recognizing the poise and confidence in its gait. And as it moves forward, revealing itself, he’s filled with something he thought he’d never feel again – relief.

In the midst of the ruins of what was once their home, Natasha’s onyx suit gleams, and the light of her batons is as fiery as the one illuminating her emerald eyes. She turns to him, her smile as infectious and mesmerizing as the one she had sent his way before this nightmare had begun. “Hey, soldier.”

Steve bolts up in bed, his chest heaving as cold sweat drips down his temple. He feels around him, and when his hands land on nothing but the softness of the sheets, he inhales deeply in an attempt to get his breathing in order. _It was just a dream._ He repeats the words in his head, mouthing them silently. _It was just a dream._

When his breathing slows, he takes in his surroundings. Even in the dark, he makes out the fading yellow of the walls, and the pictures in the frames littering the shelves before him with the faces of three young children remind him that he isn’t on the battlefield, but in the guest bedroom of Clint’s home. With a sigh, he rises to look out the window. The light of dawn lingers low in the Missouri sky, painting the landscape of the Barton family farm in tones of rich purples and oranges. But in spite of the impending sign of a new day, he feels his hands clench into fists at his sides, and before he can let his emotions get the better of him, he finds himself dressing and swiftly making his way out the back door.

The barn is empty, and he searches frantically for something – anything – to do, as if what’s left of his sanity might just slip if he keeps still, and he doesn’t even think twice when he sees the axe on the workstation. He picks it up, heading towards the pile of firewood on the side of the room, and as he strikes the blade against the log, he can no longer keep his thoughts from running amuck. Now more than ever, he feels like there is a heartless irony to his existence. When they’ve come as close as they have to not witnessing another day, the opportunity to live a new one shouldn’t bother him and make his heart feel like a weight in his chest, but they do. And it’s without an iota of a doubt that he knows that it’s all to do with the costly price they’ve had to pay to forge this reality.

The end was supposed to justify their means. And in many ways, it does. Families are reunited. The Earth remains in orbit. Half of the galaxy’s life has been restored. But even so, their losses haven’t felt minimized to any degree. The world could sympathize with the fact that Tony would never see Morgan grow up or that Natasha would never get to live the life she fought arduously to deserve, but they won’t hear Pepper’s sobs at night. They won’t hear the anguish in Clint’s voice when he reminisces with Nathaniel about his namesake. And they most definitely won’t hear his screams when he dreams of the life he and Natasha could have had, only to have it ripped away time and again by morning.

The last thought causes him to grip the axe more tightly. It’s been days since their time heist and since they’d defeated Thanos and his army for good, and though sleep has been difficult to find, on the off chance that he did, he’s been haunted by this recurring dream and the subsequent affliction of waking up to find that it was indeed just that. The sacrifice hadn’t been undone. Natasha hadn’t come back to them, to him. And in a world where stealing time has become a possibility, it’s a cruel, twisted joke that just having another minute with her, is not. 

_Tell me after. When we get our family and friends back. When we’ve restored half the universe. When we’ve won_. 

Natasha’s words from that night echo in his mind, her voice as sweet as it is in his dreams. But it only fortifies the bitterness coursing through his veins, intensifying the effort he exerts as he brings the axe to the wood over and over again. They were foolish to think they could leave the words they wanted to tell each other for a better time – as if they knew for certain that they had more than what they had at that very moment. And now here he was, back in his own fresh hell, alive if only to relive the vicious cycle of losing the person he loves. Though this time, he’d lost much more than the promise of one dance. 

A pained groan slips from his lips as his restraint crumbles, and he sends the axe flying towards the wall, the blade embedding into the wooden panel. He brings a hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck.”

“Might just be me,” he hears someone say, “but that’s looking a little too fine for the fireplace now.” 

He looks down at his feet, and he has to blink away the tears he hadn’t realized had filled his eyes to see that he had turned the log into mulch. With the back of his hand, he wipes his tears away before turning to find Clint lingering by the work bench, his sweat-drenched shirt a reassurance that he’s not the only one that sleep has alluded. He sighs. “You can’t sleep,” he says, watching as Clint stares at him for a second, unsure if he should be surprised or impressed that his words had come out as a statement of fact instead of a trite question, but he only shrugs. Preamble meant little to him now. 

“Every time I close my eyes…” Clint says, “I see her falling.”

He looks back down at the ground. He knows better than anyone what that’s like, to have a horror movie play in your head repeatedly without the power to shut it off. The image of Bucky falling from the train haunted him for years, and some nights, even when he knew his best friend had survived, it still did. But he doesn’t dare offer Clint any advice – damn if he knew how to make it stop.

“I think I’d be better off with nightmares,” Steve says, his voice steady even when his gut feels anything but. “Because at least they wouldn't be a lie. But all I keep getting are dreams that she’s not really gone.” He does not even look up to see Clint’s reaction as he adds, “I can deal with the pain of reality. I think it’s all I’ve ever really known since I came out of the ice. But this… hope? This feeling like there’s got to be some way to bring her back and I’m just missing it?” He shakes his head. “It’s a demon I don’t know how to slay.” 

“It can’t be undone,” Clint says softly. “You know it can’t, Steve.” 

“Do I?” he says heatedly. “God, what do I know? What do any of us really know? Every goddamn thing we thought was impossible turned out to be possible!” He steps forward. “So, tell me, Clint, after everything we’ve been through, everything that’s happened, what do we really know anymore?”

“I know she’s not here,” Clint says, throwing his hands up in frustration. “My best friend isn't here!” He scoffs. “She didn't choose to become what they made her, didn't get a say in any of it… But she atoned for those sins just the same.” His voice falls to a tormented whisper. “She deserved this win more than anyone I know." 

Steve’s expression softens at the agony that pains Clint's face. "She fought to own her choices,” he says. “You couldn't have stopped her. Even I know that."

"Yeah, she fought for it,” Clint says, his chuckle devoid of any humor as he looks back at him. “You're right, maybe we don't know a fucking thing anymore, but what I do know is that she is not here."

“It had to be her.”

Steve’s head whips in the direction of the barn’s door, as does Clint’s, and they both share a look when they find Stephen Strange leaning against the frame.

“But I have reason to believe there is more to her sacrifice than previously thought,” Strange says.

* * *

From his seat at the head of Clint’s dining table, Steve eyes Strange apprehensively, as do Bucky, Sam, and Bruce, who they’d roused from their sleep, while Clint stares pensively out the window. They may have saved the world together, but they hardly knew Stephen Strange, if at all. And though he knows the man could probably incapacitate them with a single spell, some semblance of safety in numbers was better than none at all. 

“Let me get this straight,” Bruce says, pacing by the kitchen’s archway. “Are you saying there’s a way to get Natasha back?”

Strange sighs. “I’m hesitant to call it a way-”

“Of course you are,” Clint interrupts bitterly without looking back. 

“Clint,” Steve says in warning, turning to Strange and nodding for him to continue.

“There was only one in over fourteen million scenarios where Thanos didn’t prevail,” Strange begins. “That one chance was contingent on several variables falling into place exactly as they should, well before Stark could make his sacrifice." He looks to the side of the table where Sam and Bucky sit next to each other. “Those who had to vanish, vanished.” He turns towards Clint. “Those who were lost, needed to be lost.” To Bruce, lifting his chin to take in his towering figure. “Those who had to become something else, did.” Finally, towards Steve. “And those who belonged together, like you and Miss Romanoff, stayed together.” 

Steve blinks, stunned and confused. “Excuse me?”

Strange places his hands on the table before him, intertwining his fingers. "Seeing into the future isn’t as cut and dry as many assume. You can see what could happen, but if even one of the conditions for a scenario to unfold is left unsatisfied, that reality will cease to exist."

“But you just said one of the conditions was that Steve and Natasha had to stay together,” Sam says before sneaking a rueful glance at Steve. “Technically…”

“And that, Mr. Wilson, is precisely why I’m sitting before you right now,” Strange interjects before Sam can continue. “When I realized that Miss Romanoff had remained a casualty, I knew something had gone array. So I went searching for answers.”

“And did you find them?” Steve asks, looking at Clint to see the man cross his arms over his chest. 

“I found a lore on so-called Twin Flames,” Strange says. “Two people who will find each other, always, no matter what, for they are two halves of the same soul.”

“Two halves of the same soul?” Bruce asks skeptically. “Like... soulmates? The… the stuff kids talked about in middle school?”

“Dr. Banner, you, better than most, know the error in thinking we understand everything about the laws of the universe,” Strange says, arching an eyebrow and causing Bruce to acquiesce with a sigh. “Soulmates do indeed exist, but what I’m referring to goes much deeper than that.”

“How so?” Bucky prods, speaking up for the first time since they’d gathered in Clint’s kitchen.

Strange unfolds his hands before reaching for the salt shaker. He unscrews the lid, forming two heaps before him as he spills the granules onto the wood. “Soulmates are two separate people forged from the same energy,” he explains, holding two fingers up. As he does, the particles begin to glide towards the center of the table in the form of two orbs. “Twin Flames, or mirror souls if you will” – he pauses, and with a flick of his right wrist, the orbs merge only to split back in two again – “come from one single soul split in half. The pair’s identity was never revealed. Why?” He shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. But even among the trillions upon trillions of people scattered across a vast sea of universes, if you know what you’re looking for, you just might find it.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says, his eyebrows all but lifting into his hairline. “Did you just say a vast sea of universes?” 

“A multiverse,” Strange says, looking down at the salt as he rearranges the orbs into thousands of smaller spheres reaching far across the table. “Infinite copies of ourselves exist in different realities. They’re still us, the same beings, only living a different life with a different set of circumstances. I visited as many as I could to confirm my suspicion.” 

“You think Natasha and I are mirror souls,” Steve whispers. 

Strange nods. “You’ve found each other in multiple universes, and despite her not being here, the reality upon which we reside has not ceased to exist. I don’t think that is a coincidence.” Steve begins to shake his head, but Strange goes on. “Captain, did you intuitively know what Miss Romanoff was thinking, where she was or what she would do in a battle? Did you communicate easily without words, feel safe around each other? You may not have known about the signs, but I think you know deep down that what I’m saying is true.” Steve’s expression remains skeptical, prompting Strange to narrow his eyes at him. “Dream about her lately?” he asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up momentarily when Steve tenses. “Your mind is not tormenting you. Your soul needs its other half.” 

“The sacrifice can’t be undone,” Clint says firmly. “That’s what the keeper said.”

“Ancient rules have surprisingly considerable room for interpretation,” Strange says, still contemplating Steve. He turns to Clint as he adds, “A soul for a soul, yes. But Miss Romanoff's soul was not just hers to give.”

Steve leans back in his chair at Strange’s words, letting his arms fall to his sides. 

“My observations could be wrong, as I did not visit every single universe,” Strange says, turning to Steve when the room remains silent. “But if I am right, then the journey for you both remains incomplete. Twin Flames are supposed to follow a cycle, and they always stay together in the end."

“Together… and alive?” Sam clarifies.

"I do not know,” Strange says after a beat. “The Twin Flames lore is old and scarce.” 

There’s a scoff from Clint, prompting Strange to put a hand up. “Let me be clear,” he says, regarding Steve once more. “I believe you and Miss Romanoff are Twin Flames and that your journey is not yet over. But I cannot see the full picture. There are mysteries in the domain of Vormir that we may never uncover, so I cannot be certain that getting her back is an option. Or if it is, what price you will have to pay. Even so, as protector of this reality, I’d be remiss if I didn’t give you all the facts and didn’t give this possibility some consideration.” He stands, giving Steve a nod. “What you do with this information is up to you.”

* * *

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

Steve sighs at the question. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that it takes a lot to rile up Sam Wilson. The man is the quintessential soldier, always prepared to follow orders, and, rightly or wrongly, Sam has always stood loyally by him. So for him to side against him this time around, he knows that there’s a validity to the general consensus of his friends that he should scrupulously consider. And if this had been any other time, there isn’t a doubt in his mind that he would give Sam’s, and everyone else’s, opinion credence.

Only, this isn’t any other time. And, regardless of what his friends have to say, he knows deep within him that there’s simply no changing his mind. 

He hadn’t given any thought to where he was going when he had risen from his seat the second Strange left. All he knew was that he had to get out, and not even the guilt from hearing his friends call out to him as he walked out the door could have stopped him. He wouldn’t have been any use to them anyway. His mind too preoccupied with everything Strange had just revealed to them. So he kept walking, crossing the field of Clint’s property until he had made it into the woods where he could no longer resist the urge to run. He pounded his feet against the dirt as hard and as fast as he could, and yet, he couldn’t outrun his thoughts. 

Twin Flames. Mirror souls. It all sounded like a fairytale instead of the answer to their current predicament. As if everything he had been through and all Natasha had endured didn’t matter; their fates were always meant to cross and intertwine because the universe had deemed it so. It didn’t seem right. And to his credit, he’s been around long enough to know that if something seemed too good to be true, it’s because it was. 

But so, too, has his relationship with Natasha, he realized. 

_Did you intuitively know what Miss Romanoff was thinking, where she was or what she would do in a battle? Did you communicate easily without words, feel safe around each other?_

These were the questions Strange had posed to quell his skepticism, and part of him was reluctant to voice his answer even if he could do so with a resounding yes. For it seemed to bring into question the authenticity of his bond with Natasha, and that was an idea he refused to entertain – as if every honest conversation they had did not slowly take down each brick in the walls they had put up to protect themselves until they were comfortable enough to be as vulnerable as they dared with each other. But even so, he could not deny that things with them have always been uncannily easy. 

In the Battle of New York, he had attributed the ease at which they defended the ground together, despite having only met, to them both being trained fighters. And later on, as throwing his shield to her and wordlessly ducking to his right so she could execute a perfect roundhouse kick to an opponent on his six became second nature, he chalked it up to countless missions they tackled together at SHIELD. But then he thinks back to the night before their time heist, the two of them dancing to nothing but the sound of their hearts beating and the rain pouring. They hadn’t said much to each other then, but they did not have to. As he held her in his arms and he looked down into her eyes, he just knew. She was the one. The perfect partner. 

He realized as he came to a stop that it didn’t matter. Their souls being one be damned, whatever he and Natasha had, they had worked for. Earned. And if there was a way to bring her back, to see if they could have a chance together, he had to try.

It’s with that reminder that Steve turns to Sam, shaking his head. “This isn’t up for discussion, Sam,” he says, his gaze sweeping over his friends, all of whom have their jaws set in dismay as they gather back in the barn. “I’m not asking for permission. I’ll put back the stones as planned, but I need to see if she’s out there.” 

Bruce sighs. “Steve, you heard what Strange said-”

“I did,” Steve interrupts, “which is exactly why I have to do this.”

“No, you don’t,” Sam says in protest. “This is crazy!”

Steve huffs out a breath. “Strange said there was a possibility-”

“He also said that he does not know what you'll have to do in return,” Bruce counters. “Look, Steve, there’s a lot we don’t know about Vormir. But we know enough to be certain that it isn’t going to be as simple as exchanging the soul stone for Natasha’s life.”

“Nothing we’ve ever done has been simple,” Steve volleys back. “But if we didn’t take some risks, none of us would be standing here right now. If Strange is right, my staying here puts this reality at risk.”

“And if he’s wrong, you could die,” Sam says sternly, cutting in before Bruce can answer. “Then what, Steve? Nat still wouldn’t be back and this reality could be doomed anyway. In that case, it makes more sense for you to be here.”

Steve shakes his head. “Sam-”

“Steve,” Clint says. “Don’t do this.”

“Weren’t you just telling me that she deserved this win more than anyone?” Steve utters in disbelief. Of everyone in this room, Clint is the last person he expected to go against him when it came to this, of all things, and he can’t shake off the bitter taste of betrayal in his mouth at hearing the man be so vehemently opposed to his plan. “Here’s a chance to make that happen, Clint! How can you ask me not to take it?”

“Because she wouldn’t want this for you!” Clint exclaims, pausing momentarily to gather his composure and taking a breath before going on. “Even if Strange’s lovey dovey theory is right and you two have always been made for each other, do you really think she’d want you to gamble on your life? And for what, a minuscule chance to bring her back?” He scoffs. “You knew her, better than anyone, including me. Don’t cheapen her choices this way.” He shakes his head. “Steve, she loved-”

“Don’t!” His outburst takes everyone by surprise, and he swallows thickly as he tries to fight the tears threatening to sting his eyes. “You don’t get to say that.”

Clint’s sighs. “I couldn’t stop her,” he says, his tone dripping with pain as he stares at him. "But I can at least look after those she cared about.”

“Steve,” Sam pipes up again. “Listen to him, man. Honor her life by living yours.” 

Steve remains silent for a moment, letting his friends’ sentiments hang in the air between them. As much as he tries to fight it, a part of him acknowledges that they’re right. _You first_. Those were Natasha’s words to him that night when he returned to the facility and he had told her about the need for them both to get a life. And though she had said it teasingly back then, he knows those words hold true to the very core of who she is. She was always willing to make the difficult choices when no one else had the strength to do so, even if the consequences came at a personal expense. It’s why she had dumped all of SHIELD’s classified intelligence onto the Internet for everyone to see even when she knew full well that it would shine a light on her past. It’s why she had let him and Bucky go that day in the hangar in Berlin even when she didn’t agree with his stance. And ultimately, it's why she had laid her life down so they could all live to see another day.

If Natasha were standing here at this very moment, there isn’t a doubt in his mind that she would be echoing the words of their friends. Imploring him to be brave. To move on. To live life even if it meant living one without her. But he quashes the thought as soon as it comes, unwilling to accept it as he thrusts his chin upwards and looks back at the group. 

“When Tony and I went back to Lehigh to try to get the space stone, I almost got caught, so I ran into the nearest room. It was an office, and the desk was filled with accolades and pictures...” His shoulder lifts in a half-hearted shrug as he continues. “Didn't realize whose office it was until I looked up to see Peggy through the window. She was talking to someone in the other room, and the look on her face... It couldn’t be misconstrued. She was happy, content. And when I looked back at the pictures, I saw a mosaic of her life. Her family. And my first thought was... I can't wait to go back, win this fight, and see if I could have a shot at that happiness with Natasha.” He sighs, looking at Sam. “So yeah, maybe this is stupid.” And then at Clint. “And maybe this time around I won't get to walk away unscathed. But… I can’t explain it. What Strange said? I just know he’s right. I can feel it. No matter what the odds are or what it might cost, I have to try. I have to try to get her back.” And with a tone he reserves for giving orders on the field, leaving no room for argument, he says, “I'm going.” 

Clint mutters a curse under his breath just as Sam turns to Bucky. “Barnes, back us up.”

Steve’s eyes dart to Bucky, who’s remained silent throughout this all, watching as his best friend takes one look at him and then at Sam before sighing. “I think for once we should let him do something that’s just for him.”

Sam and Bruce look to the ground in acquiescence, while Clint’s lips press into a hard line, and from where he stands staring at Bucky, Steve sighs in relief. 

* * *

The sun is yet to rise by the time Steve fastens his time-space GPS on his wrist. He hadn’t dared to sleep a wink, in fear that of all the nights he’s spent reliving the same dream, on the one night he actually craves to revisit it, to hear her voice one more time, would be the night it chooses to go away. He doesn’t trust his mind all that much lately, though part of him is at peace with that fact. For what he’s about to attempt, he knows that his heart is the only thing he can follow, and it’s his heart that has him already suited up as he stands in front of the bureau in Clint’s guest bedroom.

He pulls at the suit around the shoulders at the thought, the material feeling a little too stiff on his skin. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s suited up for a mission. And in a time when he’s already gone on the most critical one of them all – the one that had saved not just the world, but the entire galaxy – it’s almost preposterous that he picks now to feel uncomfortable in his uniform. As if it isn’t sitting quite where it should. As if it’s not adequate for what he’s embarking upon. As if it’s not his. 

Suddenly, Bucky’s words from yesterday morning begin to truly sink in. Whereas every mission he had gone on had been a call of duty, a fight for the greater good, as his best friend had astutely pointed out, this one is just for him and for the life he hopes to have with the woman he’s been waiting for all along. The world stood to gain nothing from his pursuit. And though he’s not one to keep score or shy away from obligation, perhaps for the first time in his life, he does not feel a shred of guilt for putting his wants first. 

With that, he reaches for the other GPS atop the bureau, taking a long and steadying breath as he holds it in his palm and hopes with everything that he has that he’ll have use for it. 

The leaves crunch under his boots as he walks across the field come sunrise, making his way over to where Bruce, Clint, Sam, and Bucky are huddled around the controls of the newly built Quantum tunnel. Bruce’s chin tips up in greeting as he catches sight of him, his large hands working over the locks on the case resting on the table before them. With a ring, the case opens to reveal all six of the stones nestled inside.

“Remember,” Bruce says, a warning in his tone. “You’ll have to return the stones the soonest you can after they were originally taken. Otherwise, we’re still looking at a whole bunch of nasty alternate realities.”

“Don’t worry, Bruce,” he says, closing the case. “I’ll clip all the branches.”

“You know, I tried,” Bruce says solemnly. “When I had the gauntlet and the stones. I really tried to bring her back.”

“I know you did,” he says, giving Bruce a little smile. 

Bruce nods before gesturing towards the tunnel’s platform. “Goodluck.” 

“Thanks,” Steve says as he picks up the case. He turns his gaze towards Sam, who gives him a single nod, and Clint, who just stares silently at him, his disappointment nearly palpable. But he pushes that aside as he continues to walk.

“I’d say don’t do anything stupid…” Bucky says, a grin on his lips and his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jacket as he approaches him. “But we all know you’re likely to take that as a challenge.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Can’t do anything stupid if I leave all the stupid here now, can I?” 

Bucky chuckles, and they both pause by the steps of the tunnel. “You sure about this?” 

“Yeah,” he says instantly. “I know this could be a one-way ticket, and for real this time. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He shrugs. “Tony said that part of the journey is the end... and not all endings are happy, but that doesn’t mean they’re bad, you know?” Bucky’s brave façade falters for just a second at those words, and he sighs. “This is my choice, Buck.”

“Okay,” Bucky says after a beat, stepping forward to wrap his arms around him. “Gonna miss you, buddy.”

“Hopefully not for long,” he says, offering his best friend a smile before picking up Mjölnir.

“How long’s this gonna last?” Sam asks as Steve steps onto the platform. 

“For him, as long as he needs,” Bruce replies. “For us, if all goes to plan, five seconds.” Bruce looks to Steve. “Ready, Cap? You’re good to go. Meet you right back here, okay?”

Steve turns to Clint, making sure to look him right in the eyes. “You bet.”

“All right, going Quantum…” Bruce says, “in three, two, one.”

* * *

It’s eerily silent when Steve exits the portal on Vormir, the moistened sand beneath him giving in ever so slightly under his weight. His eyes scan the landscape as a frigid breeze blows past him, the cold cutting through the thick material of his suit. Before him, dunes, cast in the shadows of the thick brush of clouds, span seemingly unendingly as the water that’s gathered in between them reflect what little light radiates from the orange sun in perpetual eclipse above. He’s seen many dreary sights in his lifetime – as is the case when you live through the Great Depression and your chosen occupation entails fighting all the evils the world can concoct – but even he has to admit that he hasn’t seen anything quite as bleak and barren as this. Nebula had called it a dominion of death, and from where he stands, he can’t help but feel as if the description is almost too apropos.

He sets his sights on the horizon, where a lone mountain stands with two pillars on its apex towering up into the clouds, and he doesn’t have to think twice to know that his destination lies above. There’s an urgency in his steps as he begins to make his way across, one he notes was decidedly absent when he had put the first five stones back. It was a relatively simple task, one he’d managed to accomplish undeterred, and though the chronoshift from the multiple jumps into various years has left him lightheaded, it’s not nearly enough to extinguish his determination as he nears the foot of the mountain. He’s here, right where he wants to be, and the thought alone causes the adrenaline to spike in his veins. And before he knows it, he’s running. Bolting.

“You.”

Steve has barely had a second to catch his breath when he’s greeted by a voice at the top, his mind already registering the menacing tone long before his eyes can confirm it. As he turns, he finds the Red Skull, suspended high in the air before him, and despite the dark cloak engulfing his entire figure, he can clearly see the hatred still burning in his scarlet orbs. Once upon a time, this monster and the evils he had sown into the world had plagued his nightmares, and though he may never make peace with the images this demon had forced him to see, he refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing so as he squares his shoulders. “I have an offer to make.” 

A ghost of amusement taints the Skull’s expression for a split second before he lets out a scoff, turning his back on him as he begins to float away. 

Steve’s jaw sets as he follows him through the rocky terrain of the mountain top, stopping just by the center. “Did you hear me?” he spits out. 

“A soul for a soul,” the Skull says, lingering at the edge of the cliff with his back still to him. “The exchange is everlasting.”

“Her soul was not hers to give,” Steve says, reaching into his utility belt to retrieve the soul stone, its yellow light radiating as he holds it up. “The exchange is void.”

The Skull chuckles loudly enough to echo through the snowy mountain. “The lore of the Twin Flames,” he says as he turns, his eyes zeroing in on the stone with an indisputable longing. “If you think you can simply hand me back the stone in exchange for the sacrificed, you’re sorely mistaken. Only the soul realm can grant such trade.”

“So there is a way,” he challenges, moving towards the Skull. “Tell me how to get to the soul realm.”

The Red Skull grins. “There is only one way.”

Thunder roars loudly above as Steve follows the Skull’s gaze to the edge of the cliff, causing the ground beneath him to shake and a rock to roll soundlessly down the edge. He watches it fall, growing smaller as it plunges further down the abyss until even his enhanced vision can no longer make it out. His heart constricts in his chest suddenly as he witnesses just how far the rock had fallen. It dawns on him then that it’s the same height Natasha had plummeted to her death, and for a moment, he can only stare at the bottom, searching, even if his mind dreads what he might find. His eyes land on nothing but the ground, and both pain and relief wash over him like a deluge. He’d give it all just to see her again, but to see her that way, with limbs lifeless and her blood staining the ground, he isn’t certain it’s an image he’ll ever recover from. 

“I have to jump,” Steve says eventually.

"You're not the first to think you're the other half of a mirrored soul, to think you're the one capable of bending the rules of this realm.” The Red Skull smirks. "If you are who you think, it may not be a long way down. But if you're wrong, you'll be nothing but a bag of bones at the bottom of this pit. Much like all who've come before you."

Steve’s fists clench at his sides, his mind already protesting the specter’s words even as he’s reminded of what Strange had revealed only the day before. _A multiverse. Infinite copies of ourselves exist in different realities._ Strange had offered the possibility of being wrong, after all. Perhaps he’s meant to suffer this life in solitude in order for another version of himself to live the life he’s always wanted. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s found himself out of luck. He shakes his head. _No_. “You’re lying.”

The Red Skull remains silent, regarding Steve carefully as a conspiratorial glint fills his eyes. “Look at you, ever so eager to die for a cause deemed noble.” Steve’s jaw sets, causing the Skull to tilt his head. “Humanity, the greater good. And now, a great love?” the Skull asks, his tone taunting. “Surely, it can’t be, for you have loved deeply before.” The Skull’s gaze falls lower. "No, you’re not dying for love. You’re dying because you’re not brave enough to live!”

Steve’s lips tremble as the truth is laid raw and bare before him, and he finds himself powerless to do anything but stand frozen in place. Because here he had come determined – convinced, even – that his love for Natasha was deep and vast and encompassing enough that it didn’t matter what price he had to pay to bring her back. That, regardless of how much he craved for a shot at happiness with her, if her ability to go back to the world she fought so hard to save meant she would have to do so without him, then so be it. He would die for her, simply and without question. But dying for her, when he had been so willing to die for others in the past… Suddenly the gesture no longer feels grand. It’s lusterless. A front. 

It’s then that his fingers unfurl at his side, his hand reaching into a pocket on his belt like a reflex as the Red Skull looks on. And for the first time, he’s filled with dread when he feels the metal of the compass against his skin. He takes it out, unclasping the lock to see Peggy’s fading picture on the top half. He hadn’t even consciously taken it with him, tucking it into his belt as he did the rest of his things on autopilot when he had gotten dressed. But as he holds the relic in his hand, he can’t help but feel his gut twist with his own hypocrisy. Here he is, bargaining for the life of the woman he claims to love, hoping against all hope to have a future together, while still carrying a souvenir of his past. A past he had claimed he no longer wanted.

His friends were right. If he truly loves Natasha the way he claims to, the best way to honor her life is to keep living. To keep fighting, as she did to the very end. Because to fight is to live.

“It is my curse to know all who journey here,” the Red Skull says, breaking Steve out of his reverie. “Twin Flames, mirror souls… mere fables of hope. Wishful thinking for those who cannot accept loss.”

Steve scoffs. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’d have a stake in me living.”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to watch you die knowing what you’ve always known,” the Red Skull grits out bitterly. “There’s nothing special about you. You’re just a kid from Brooklyn. Nothing more!” 

Steve takes one final look at the edge of the cliff before turning to the Red Skull. His heart is heavy, as are his legs, but he wills himself to turn away, putting one foot in front of the other. He makes it halfway to the pillars when he hears a voice call out to him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Steve, can you hear me?”

He lets his eyes fall shut. Maybe it’s pain from retreating from the mission he came here to accomplish, or maybe it’s another mystery of this godforsaken planet that’s caused everyone nothing but pain. But somehow, in this moment, Natasha’s voice sounds sweeter. Clearer. As if she’s right by him. “You’re all I hear.”

Vaguely, he feels the compass sliding out of his fingers. His eyes flutter open, and before he can give it any thought, he’s turning, his strides lengthening as he runs towards the edge of the cliff. And with the wind against his skin, he’s free-falling head first as the Red Skull’s laughter echoes up above. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking this time to thank, in detail, the two people who have put up with me for the last eleven months since I posted chapter 1. Believe me when I say that I have done nothing but whine incessantly, change my mind about every little detail, and trash every draft I came up with AFTER I asked them to read it. Simply put, without them, I would have succumbed to my impulses to delete this story altogether. 
> 
> My dear [Samtuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samtuma). Thank you endlessly for guiding me through this writing process. You are truly the other half of my writing brain and I never would have been able to write this without you. 
> 
> [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/pseuds/Faith2nyc) (whose edit originally inspired this story to begin with!). Your art is wonderful, and I am grateful that you think this story is worthy of lending your time and talents to. 
> 
> I don’t know why you two put up with me, but I am infinitely glad that you do. And for as much as I love this ship, I love the friendships we have formed as a result infinitely more. Love you both! :-)
> 
> **For previews and update announcements on this fic, follow me on Tumblr:[natrogersfics](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/)**


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